As soon as the door to Thorne Place closed behind Jonathan, he cursed under his breath. Miss Thorne wasn’t going to cry off. There was but a week left before their nuptials, and she was planning a wedding breakfast—not entertaining ways to be rid of him.
The small surge of satisfaction at knowing she still wanted him ebbed as quickly as it came. She was better off without him. The kindest thing he could do for her would be to send her running into Ben Hillary’s arms, but Jonathan had promised to allow her to make the choice.
He circled his palm over the dull ache in his chest. Even though letting Miss Thorne go would be in her best interest, it hurt to realize he was destined to be alone. There would be no one to mourn him when he was no more.
Forgoing a hack, Jonathan set off on foot for his town house. The gas lamps along Mayfair’s streets illuminated the fog, creating a ghostly quality. He had nothing to fear from footpads or the like. The Regent’s Consul had seen to that. Jonathan was a man to be feared, but few people ever realized it when he played the role of a crackpot anthropology enthusiast.
Perhaps that was what had drawn him to Eve. She didn’t dismiss him as simply a bumbling fool beneath her notice. She accepted him as he was with an open, loving heart. Eve saw him.
She doesn’t see the real you.
“Sod off,” he mumbled.
“You’ll not get rid of me that easily,” a voice replied from his right. An intruder entered the dim circle of light from a streetlamp.
In one fluid movement, Jonathan unsheathed the blade hidden in his walking stick and pressed the sharp tip beneath the man’s chin before Jonathan recognized him. “Margrave.”
A trickle of blood oozed down the viscount’s neck, but he didn’t so much as flinch.
Jonathan stepped back, dropping his blade. “What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me? I could have slit your throat.”
Margrave’s brow lifted. A flash of light caught on the knife in his hand as he sheathed it. “You were distracted. I shouldn’t have gotten this close without you noticing. Mooning over a lady will only get you killed.”
Jonathan didn’t bother responding. His colleague was right. He couldn’t walk around with his head in the clouds unless he was courting an early death. Perhaps he should take a cue from Margrave and abandon any hope of a normal existence.
Margrave fell into step with Jonathan as he continued toward his home. The streets of Mayfair were deserted at this time of night with partygoers attending balls that would last until the early morning hours.
“Farrin had you followed. Just as you suspected. A German seaman looking for coin. It was no wonder he was easy to spot.”
Margrave’s revelation came as no surprise. Jonathan knew Farrin had been trying to send a message.
“According to my source, Farrin has grown impatient,” Margrave said. “You have a ship at your disposal, but you’re still dallying with the chit.”
Jonathan glared at him and Margrave held up his hands in submission. It was a trick. Farrin’s men didn’t submit to anyone.
“I am only repeating what I heard.”
“God’s blood. I am courting a lady, not dallying with a chit. Furthermore, what concern is it of his? I will leave London when I am damned ready.”
Margrave regarded him with what appeared to be a measure of respect. “No one defies Farrin’s orders.”
“Well, it is about time someone stood his ground with the blighter.”
“Hackberry.” The viscount grabbed his arm, drawing him to a stop. “No one challenges the commander, because he tolerates no rebellion. Think carefully about what you are doing.”
Farrin had a reputation for swift and merciless retribution, but what more could he do to Jonathan? He already had no family, no friends, and his chance for a happy life with Miss Thorne was being snatched away. “I don’t fear Farrin.”
“Then fear for your betrothed,” Margrave said through gritted teeth. “You cannot guard her every moment. Our brothers are loyal to him, and she is vulnerable.”
Jonathan rocked back on his heels, not believing what he’d heard. “He threatened her life?”
“If you do not take care of the problem delaying you, Farrin will. I know nothing about your assignment, but I would advise you to make haste.”
Jonathan narrowed his eyes on his fellow spy. Did Margrave’s loyalties lie with the organization? He gripped the handle of his walking stick. “And what are your orders?”
“Farrin can go to hell,” Margrave spat. “A young lady is not an enemy of the Crown.”
Jonathan’s head spun, and he leaned on the cane for support. If Margrave had been ordered to eliminate Miss Thorne, how long did Jonathan have before another spy was sent for her? A string of curses flew from him, rising on the night air. “I will kill the bloody blackguard.”
“You could, but another fat rat would happily scurry into his position. Fulfill your duties. Miss Thorne will be in no danger once you are gone. Nevertheless, if it brings you peace of mind, I will help Ben keep watch over her.”
Jonathan growled low in his throat. He hated that he couldn’t be the one to protect his betrothed—that he was the reason she was endangered.
“If you care about her,” Margrave said, “take Ben’s money and ship and leave.”
“It is not that simple.” And yet what choice did he have? There wasn’t time to convince Miss Thorne to cry off. Tomorrow he must tell her their relationship was over.
* * *
Eve hadn’t slept a wink all night. Instead, she had rehearsed in her mind what she would say to Jonathan when he called on her today. She had altered the wording slightly each time until she thought she had prepared a sensitive and respectful parting speech. The problem lay with her, not him, but she fervently hoped they could remain on friendly terms. She found him amiable and enjoyed his company.
To show her sincerity, she had asked Cook to make Jonathan’s favorite finger sandwiches—tarragon chicken salad with dried cherries—and those lovely little vanilla tea cakes he ate as if he might not see his next meal. Bohea tea filled her mother’s precious Worcester teapot, and the best porcelain plates had been brought from the pantry. Eve had been as prepared as any lady could be to gently tell her betrothed she just couldn’t marry him.
She never got the chance.
“What do you mean, you cannot marry me?” Shrillness broke through her words, shattering the illusion she could remain reasonable and calm under these circumstances. This cannot be happening.
She dug her fingers into the padded armrests to fight against dumping the sandwiches and cakes in his lap and crowning him with her mother’s best silver tray. “Do you have any idea what this will do to me?” It was a miracle her reputation had been salvaged after Ben jilted her. She would never recover from a similar incident.
Jonathan sipped his tea, cool and collected, which only made her more crazed. “I think we both realize this is for the best. It is clear you still hold a tendre for Mr. Hillary. I am simply clearing the way for you to reunite.”
She bolted from the settee and marched several paces away to place distance between them. “You cannot cry off and go around saying I hold a tendre for Mr. Hillary. I will be ruined. People will think we have engaged in an impropriety.”
His smile was serene as he set his cup aside. The exquisite china piece clicked against the saucer. “Darling.” If his placating tone was meant to calm her, it had the opposite effect.
She jutted her chin, her temper rising. “I am not your darling.”
“You never were,” he shot back, a ruddy shadow covering his suddenly hardened face.
Wonder of wonders. It seemed he was human after all. This was the first show of emotion he’d exhibited since their betrothal ball.
The ball. Her heart dropped to her stomach. Had he seen her dancing with Ben that night? Her indignation gave way to horror that he might believe she had been untrue to him.
“You cannot think I was unfaithful.” Her voice cracked on the last word and tears welled in her eyes.
He sighed and pushed from the chair as if almost too weary to stand. “I could never believe anything unbecoming about you, Miss Thorne. You are a kind and decent young woman.” He came to stand in front of her and raised his hand as if he might touch her before letting it drop to his side. “I will not repeat a word to anyone about what has occurred between us today. We will tell everyone it was your decision to end our betrothal. You may say I am too absorbed with my work and bad tempered when my attention is needed elsewhere. I believe this is the best solution to our dilemma. We are clearly not meant to be.”
He saw their relationship as a dilemma? She couldn’t say why, but it made her feel like crying. She didn’t strive to be anyone’s problem. She longed to be a helpmate, to stand beside her man in times of trouble.
With a sigh, she realized he was right. They did have a dilemma that could only be solved by parting ways. Jonathan was honorable and kind. He was the type of gentleman to allow himself to be maligned to protect her pride. But he wasn’t her man. That didn’t make him deserving of attacks on his character, however.
She frowned. “I will not spread tales about you.”
“Then we will say nothing except it was your choice to cry off. The ton can make whatever assumptions about me they like.”
While she appreciated his sacrifice, she could make no sense of it. “Why are you willing to fall on your sword for me?”
“I only want to see you safe and happy.” His smile tugged at her heart. He appeared so sad and lonely in that moment. “Will you do that for me, Miss Thorne? Marry, have a family, and be happy?”
It sounded as if he was saying good-bye forever. “Only if…if you promise you will do the same.”
“I would like that very much.” He leaned to kiss her cheek one last time. “Take care of yourself, Eve.”
She stood rooted to the middle of the drawing room floor as Jonathan walked away.